


Trophy Hunter

by useless_lesbean



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Introspection, a bit angsty, i have a hc that wont leave me alone, i think, mild description of violence, nothing graphic, written on mobile so forgive any errors pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useless_lesbean/pseuds/useless_lesbean
Summary: Sylvanas see a little too much of herself in a bear.





	Trophy Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the perfectly fitting Within Temptation song

The bear was large. All sleek dark fur, and thick powerful limbs. Its black claws and ivory fangs wickedly sharp, put on proud display. A beautiful, deadly creature. 

Or, at least, it had been. In life.

Now, reduced to simple decoration, a trophy. Stuffed and mounted and posed in a way to show what a powerful animal it had been. 

But not out of respect for the bear. No. For bragging rights. For weak minded fools to say ‘look at this, I killed it’, and bask in the so-called _glory_ the admiration of their peers brought them. 

No one ever wondered about the bear, or the wildcat, or the crocolisk. No one ever thought; did they fight back? Or did the hunter track them to their den and shoot them in their sleep? Were they first caught in a trap, wounded and afraid when in the distance arrows gleamed? Were they harassed by spears, run down by mounted hunters? By how many were they outnumbered?

For it was never a fair fight. Never would a hunting party give an animal so powerful and strong a chance to actually fight back- a chance to _win._ No, they would do everything to ensure their prey was tired and weak and easy to slaughter. 

Then they would have the marks of its life and death erased, have the body preserved and pristine and pretty. It was a trophy, after all. A prize to be won.

Not hunted for food, or to provide for a family, or because it had become feral and dangerous. Its bones and teeth and fur weren't used for weapons or blankets. Its hide wasn't made into leather, its sinew not into bow string. 

It wasn't hunted out of necessity, only out of sick pleasure, its body only to serve as a weak man's ‘proof' that he was strong. 

And no one thought anything of it.

No one, except Sylvanas. 

Sylvanas glared at the dead bear, undisguised hatred in her eyes. Not for the animal, but for whomever had killed it.

Once upon a time, she wouldn't have cared. Once upon a time, she would have rolled her eyes at but dismissed it.

Once upon a time, Sylvanas hadn't been the trophy.

Once upon a time, it hadn't been her body preserved and put on display. All her scars from life erased, except for the ones He himself had put there. To show how He alone had bested her, his great foe.

As if erasing the wounds of days of battle against the Scourge- and the scars of wars past- could erase the _truth._

Just like the trophy hunters, he had been too much a coward to let it be fair. He had waited until she was weak from hunger and thirst, exhausted from fighting without sleep for days, and wounded from the claws and rusted weapons of the Scourge. 

He had waited until she had run out of arrows, until there were not even any left to scavenge.

Until she had only broken swords.

And he had run her down, not even bothering to dismount his horse.

And he had torn her soul from her body, flayed it open and ripped it apart and tossed aside anything useless to him, until only her rage and grief and hatred remained. Until she was only a weapon.

And he had made her watch, as he took a fallen standard and had her body hung from it. A trophy, trussed up and held high for all to see. 

Made her watch, as magic was used to seal the wounds and make her body pretty again and preserved. 

Made her look at it, displayed like the bear, until he grew bored of the game and sealed it in a coffin. But not before taking a vial of her blood- _another trophy,_ but one he could have with him always. 

Sylvanas wondered if the bear was missing a fang or claw. If whomever killed it had done the same thing. Had taken a smaller bit to hold aloft and brag about the trophy he had at home. 

She wondered...

She wondered if the bear had fought, as she did. Was it protecting its cubs? Was it wounded by spears and arrows, tired and weak, as its death bore down on horseback? 

Did it give one, final roar- of rage and defiance and hopelessness- knowing that even with its last breath, it couldn't save those it protected? That they would die, despite all it had done?

Was its spirit trapped, unable to move on? Stuck in a hellish limbo, staring at its body put on display until its killer grew bored of the game? 

The thought was enraging, moreso even than looking upon the bear. 

Than looking upon the twisted mockery of a mirror the bear truly was. 

Both of them, strong and beautiful and powerful in life. Both killed, _slaughtered,_ in an unfair fight by a coward. Put on display for glory.

The only difference between Sylvanas and the bear?

She had been able to reclaim her body. To take back what was hers and fight and never again let it be taken.

The bear would never get the chance. 

It would forever be frozen in a pose mocking its own power. Laughed and gloated over.

Sylvanas would rather her body have been burned, or used as ammunition in the Scourge’s vile meat wagons, than it be a trophy forever. She would have burned her body herself, had she not been able to repossess it, rather than let Him get his hands on it again.

The bear couldn't do such a thing.

So, Sylvanas would have to.

It was the work of moments, to sidle close to the bear's corpse and take a flask from her belt. A flask filled with oil she used to set arrows alight, when the need called for it. Oil she now poured over the bear’s hind paws and the base it was mounted on.

It was easier still, to take a burning coal from a brazier as she walked by. To subtly toss it behind her, to land on the trail of oil she had left. 

Easiest of all was to stand back as it the flame caught. As all attention was drawn to the bear, fire licking up its sleek dark fur and once powerful limbs.

Sylvanas stood aside, the picture of bored annoyance, as the Horde leaders cried out in dismay and shock and ran for water, not knowing there was oil that would keep it burning. 

She watched in hidden satisfaction as they despaired over their trophy, quickly becoming an encompassing blaze.

It was a trick of the light or imagination, surely, but Sylvanas thought she saw gratitude in the bear's frozen features as it burned.

**Author's Note:**

> So. That headcanon. Sylvanas, having _ been_ the trophy, probably hates trophy hunting with a passion.
> 
> Since it wouldnt leave me alone <strike>and since I totally didnt cry over it </strike> this was born


End file.
